Why Alan Learned to Cook
by Jelsemium
Summary: This started life as a drabble, then it got hooked on steroids and grew beyond the 300 triple drabble limit. Now it's a shortie about Margaret and Alan's days as newlyweds.


Title: Why Alan Learned to Cook  
Characters: Alan/Margaret  
Rating: K+  
Word Count: 866  
Summary: Margaret has a headache.  
Disclaimer: Characters - they are so not mine.

A/N: I intended this to be a drabble for Numb3rs100's prompt: "Shred", but when it passed 300 words and the end was nowhere in sight, I decided to just go for it.

** ** **

Alan was tired and hungry. He walked in the front door of his tiny apartment oping to find dinner on the table, or at least in the oven. Unfortunately, all he found was darkness.

"Margaret?" he called.

"In the bedroom," was the reply.

Alan poked his head in to find his bride of three months lying on the bed with a washcloth across her face.

"I take it this means dinner isn't ready?" he asked.

The washcloth came off and Margaret fixed him with an icy glare. "I've had a bad day at work. I've had a migraine all afternoon. Now you..." she slid off the bed and advanced, fire in her eyes. "YOU want me to ... fix... your... dinner?"

Alan backed off... too late.

Margaret grabbed a book off the dresser and heaved it at him.

Startled, Alan caught it.

"That's a cookbook," Margaret snarled. "I'm going to nap for another hour. When I wake up, I expect to be served a hot meal in bed." She glared. "Or you're sleeping on a couch until you hit retirement age."

Alan retreated with considerable speed. Now he had to fix dinner or give up on the whole starting a family thing. He looked at the cookbook. He probably didn't even need it, as his orders didn't include fixing a fancy meal. He knew how to fix hamburgers.

He took one whiff of the ground meat and almost gagged. So much for hamburgers After disposing of the toxic waste, he looked through the kitchen to see what else he could fix. He found the beer first and helped himself to one. Then he found some cheese and decided that grilled cheese sandwiches would work.

He pulled the French bread from the breadbox and found that it was stale. "Just wonderful," Alan sighed. He wondered if he had enough time to run to the store. He checked his watch and shook his head. There was no way to get to the store, buy food, get back and cook it before his own goose was cooked. He'd have to make do with what he had. He started a grocery list, though, and tomorrow he would stop off on his way home.

That still left him up the creek with no paddle. So, he made an inventory. They had stale bread, chocolate chips, hot dogs, frozen peas, frozen broccoli... why anybody would buy broccoli was beyond him... condensed milk and a variety of spices. He sighed and took another pull at his beer.

Then inspiration struck. He cracked open the cookbook Margaret had thrown at him and leafed through it. Sure enough, there was a recipe for fondue that called for cheese and beer! And... oh, yuck... frozen broccoli was an optional ingredient. He sighed. Well, this would be a good way to get rid of it!

Checking the kitchen, he found that they had the other ingredients. A little flour... very little flour... He put flour on the grocery list. He also put beer on the list, as it was obviously inspiring him.

They actually had a fondue pot. In fact, they had three, because that was apparently The "in" gift to bestow on newlyweds. Alan had thought it was a stupid idea at the time, but he hadn't gotten around to taking the things to Goodwill. Now he was hoping they would generate a little good will for him.

He was finishing up when Margaret appeared.

"Hey, Sweetie!" he said. "Are you feeling better?"

"Much," she said, looking shame-faced. "I'm sorry about snapping at you like that."

"That's okay," Alan said. "It was rude of me to expect you to fix dinner when you weren't feeling well," He paused. "Come to think of it, it was rude of me to assume that you should be the one to fix dinner." He shrugged and grinned sheepishly. "Guess old habits die hard."

Margaret gave him a peck on the cheek. "You're so sweet," she said.

Alan beamed, and then gestured to the food. "I can serve you dinner in bed because some very clever wedding guest gave us a bed tray," he said.

Margaret shook her head. "I can eat at the table like a grown up." She looked around hopefully. "So... what's for dinner?"

"We have a cheddar and Strohs fondue with a little Worcestershire and Tabasco sauce to spice it up. For dipping, we have French bread, Hebrew National hot dogs and broccoli."

Margaret clapped her hands. "Oh, I love fondue! I knew it was a good idea not to get rid of all the pots!"

Alan laughed. "We haven't gotten rid of any of the pots yet," he said. "We can test them out to see which one we like best." He pulled a chair out from the table and bowed. "Meanwhile, if madam would care to sit?"

Margaret kissed him on the mouth and Alan almost forgot that he was hungry for food.

"Thank you for fixing dinner," she said. "If dessert is just as good, I may have a little something for you later tonight."

Dessert? Alan looked at the cookbook. There had to be something in there he could make with chocolate chips...


End file.
